But Then Olivia Happened
by aolurker
Summary: There's no other way to put it than Olivia 'happened'. Like... like some universal or fundamental force. Or at the very least a primal one.


**Title:** But Then Olivia Happened**  
Author:** aolurker**  
Disclaimer:** I do not own SVU or these characters (darn it!) nor am I making any money off them (darn it!). No infringement intended.**  
Fandom:** Law and Order: SVU**  
Pairing:** Alex/Olivia**  
Rating: ** T**  
Notes: **This is just a short little experimental piece in a voice (and style, sort of) I don't normally write in (that's the experimental part).

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**But Then Olivia Happened**

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There's no other way to put it than Olivia 'happened'. Like... like some universal or fundamental force. Or at the very least a primal one.

For there I was, newly assigned to SVU. I knew exactly where I was, exactly where I was going, and exactly what I needed to do to get from one to the other. I was absolutely one hundred percent determined and focused on my career. There was nothing more important. I wasn't looking for a "relationship", not even a casual one. And I sure as hell wasn't looking for... I won't even say it. The idea wasn't any where on my radar. Hell, the word wasn't even in my vocabulary.

But then Olivia happened.

And the best laid plans...

For from the very first moment I saw her, I was enthralled. I couldn't take my eyes off of her whenever we were in the same room together and couldn't get my mind off of her when we weren't. I lived in fear every time I had to put her on the stand as I knew my concentration would wander. But at the same time I found myself looking for excuses to visit the squad room so I could see her. I mean, come on! How many ADAs visited their detectives' squad room as often as I did?

None.

Exactly.

But if you've seen her in that squad room, on her own turf, then you know why I did it. She's amazing there. She's powerful. She's electric. She, quite simply, commands.

And it was irresistibly sexy.

And that was just the surface stuff. Because then, at the beginning there, at that time, the surface stuff was all that I knew of her. But, oh, that was enough. The tight jeans and the tight sweaters and the belts and the watch and the hair and the leather coat, dear God, the leather coat, and the cuffs, oh dear, _dear_ God, the cuffs, and the swagger and the "come on, fuck with me, I dare you" attitude...

Really. Honestly. Seriously.

One look at her and you _knew_ she could own you and own you so good, and don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Those first few months, I'll admit it, many a night I succumbed to the pleasure of my own hand with my mind's eye providing images of her standing over me and my mind's ear providing the sound of her voice commanding me....

...

...But as I was saying. At the time, it was just that surface stuff. So I could almost chalk it up to nothing more than basic sexual attraction. I could almost attribute it to her personal charisma and chemistry and convince myself that everyone must react that way to her. I could almost keep it under control that way. I could almost believe that eventually my hormones would ease up and I'd stop fantasizing of that image every night. Could almost dismiss the stirrings in my heart as incidental and almost convince myself those stirrings could be sated as privately as I sated the stirrings in the lower regions of my body.

Almost.

But then Olivia happened. Again.

Because these cases, the nature of them, they force you to pay attention to each other. For your own sanity and your own spirit, you're forced to really see the people around you to know that you're not in this alone. And so that's when I started to watch her work. I mean really watch her _work_ and not just watch _her_. To pay attention to not just her actions and her body but her motivations and her soul; to see the depth of her passion, the depth of her devotion. The depth and breadth of her fight.

And once I actually started paying attention, it became immediately clear that not only is she immensely competent, not only is she a consummate professional, but she's immeasurably passionate and compassionate. Everything she does, every person she helps, she feels, truly fully feels, to her very core.

Sure, sometimes she probably just goes through the motions. Everyone does now and again. But... but when she decides she really cares? Well when she decides she really cares, there's no stopping her in those instances, there's no escaping her, no denying her. None at all.

So the stirring in my heart grew stronger and my mind joined by body in forgetting that it was supposed to be focusing on my career and instead began to wonder what it would be like...

...what it would be like if she decided she cared about me.

And the best laid plans...

So some evenings, evenings when I should have been studying even more case law than I already had, or at the very least schmoozing with my bosses and co-workers in the DA's office, instead of drinking wine with a bunch of suits I was hanging out in a cop bar with the squad. I knew I shouldn't have been for so many different reasons, but I was.

Drinking beer with them, getting to know them, getting to know her, seeing her with her defenses just a little lowered. And learning enough to know that those defenses were there for a reason. And learning enough to know that I wanted to learn more.

And so my heart joined by body and my mind. My fantasies transformed. They weren't purely sexual any more. Oh, don't get me wrong, I still imagined that there would be nights when she'd take me to the heights of pleasure, and nights when I did the same for her. But I also now imagined there'd be so much more. I imagined there'd be nights where we'd talk about everything and nothing; about why she hates the sound of the word 'moist' and why I love the color violet--not purple, violet. Nights when she'd smile as I told her about my parents and nights when I'd hold her close and she'd tell me about hers. And there would be nights when we'd just cuddle and not talk at all.

There would be nights when she'd look at me and see a beauty in me that I can't even see; a beauty that she'd use to wash away the ugliness of her day. There would be nights of lightness and goofiness and tickling and giggling and teasing. And there would also be nights when her anger and frustration at the injustices of the world would need to find an outlet on anything that could take it.

And then there would be nights when she'd finally succumb to the horrors of her job; when she'd break down and cry and not know exactly why. Nights when she'd just want to be held and loved and built back up to be strong again the next day.

I knew I could be there for her for all those nights. What's more, I knew I wanted to be there for her all those nights. Giving what she needs, taking what she'd give.

Hm.

'Giving what she needs, taking what she'd give.'

I read that now and it sounds weak. It sounds more than weak. It sounded weak at the time, too. Yet, I knew I could say it because I knew that she'd take only what I could give and she'd give all that she is.

I knew it. And I knew there was nothing more important. And I was right.

I *am* right. About all of it.

I'm right because...because that word I wouldn't say before.

...

"Alex?"

I look up.

"You coming to bed?"

I smile and nod.

I wasn't looking for a relationship.

And I sure as hell wasn't looking for love.

But then Olivia happened.

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End file.
